Road-ready threads with a champagne name.
Jerry had been hitching along the outskirts of town for three days. His Comune Andre Shirt was covered in grape soda, coffee, and any other liquid that could be hurled from a car. He had long since unbuttoned his cotton and spandex shirt to show his cartoon character and pentagram chest tattoos. Breaking up with Janine and storming out of the teepee with only his Andre shirt had been a bad choice—her dreamcatcher delivery van would have been a sweet set of wheels to roll into the desert concert series with.